


The Right Hand of Andraste

by K_Kane



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anxiety Disorder, Canon Compliant, Found Family, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Male Mage! Inquisitor, Multi, Named Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, Slow Burn, character exploration, story fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:02:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24434800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K_Kane/pseuds/K_Kane
Summary: In 9:38 Dragon, the Circle at Ostwick fell.After Kirkwall, Ostwick was one of the first circles whose mages abandoned the control of the Chantry. It was the most invigorating and most terrifying moment of Hunter Trevelyan’s life.
Relationships: Dorian Pavus/Male Trevelyan, Male Inquisitor/Dorian Pavus





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to my completely self indulgent story about my favorite Inquisitor! With this story, I really want to explore his character and how his story arc evolves within the space of the Dragon Age Universe and the Inquisition story-line. Yes, he will be named, and yes, he will have descriptions of what he looks like in this fic. I'm warning people now in case they want something where they can plop any 'ol Male Trevelyan in and have it work. I don't want to waste your time lol
> 
> There will be times when I will be referencing moments in the game almost word for word, especially in this beginning chapters (where it's almost exclusively a transcript of the opening quest), but after that, it's kind of all on me lol. I want to write about the stuff in-between the quests as well, and how this character in specific would react to being Inquisitor (as much as I love the dialogue wheels, sometimes they don't jive and what is fanfic for anyways? lol). This is also me exploring a main character who has an anxiety disorder and PTSD, and while I'll try to do my best to do that justice, there may be times where I get things incorrect, and I apologize and will change anything that is egregiously wrong. Basically, all y'all are signing up for a super character driven narrative and a particularly slow burn, so I hope that you all enjoy. I apologize for my ramblings and justifications, I just wan't everyone to know what to expect lol. Anyways, let's get going!

In 9:38 Dragon, the Circle at Ostwick fell.

After Kirkwall, Ostwick was one of the first circles whose mages abandoned the control of the Chantry. It was the most invigorating and most terrifying moment of Hunter Trevelyan’s life.

Even at age twenty, Hunter had resigned himself to a life in the circle, never hoping for more, never dreaming of stepping outside the walls of the circle as a free man.

Despite his newfound freedom, Hunter spent nearly two years on the run with his fellow mages, doing everything within his power to survive. He fought back against the Templars, the very people who had oppressed him for so long. Now that he had a taste of freedom, he was not willing to go back.

He saw many people die in those two years, lives snuffed out by the Templars and the Chantry, just because mages were trying to live the life that the Maker had made for them.

It never got any easier, even after The Lord Seeker Lambert disbanded the Circle of Magi. If anything, it grew worse. They were denied food and shelter so as to not incur the wrath of Templars who still firmly believed that were the source of discord and death in the world.

It was not _all_ bad for Hunter. He and those mages that were left, stumbled upon a clan of elves while trying to outrun Templars, and instead of killing them or selling them out to said Templars, they welcomed the mages, protected them. The elves knew what it was like to be exiled, and this particular clan-Clan Lavellan-treated humans with something that was akin to respect.

Hunter met a woman during his stay with the elves, a small warrior by the name of Luna. A tiny waspish thing, Luna was far more fiery and powerful than her clan gave her credit for. She took an interest to him, and despite Hunter’s best efforts not to get attached to what he was afraid was a temporary home, Luna and he became friends.

They spent most of their time together, Luna telling him every sort of story she could think of. And Hunter listened, trading a few stories of his own, even if he had to stutter and blunder his way through them.

The Conclave, the thing that was going to make everything better. Divine Justinia was going to gather all of those at war together, and they were going to solve everything. That’s what Luna had told him, that’s what she believed. Whether or not the rest of her clan thought so, was un-important to her. Hunter and the other mages were wary at first, when Clan Lavellan invited the mages to travel with them to the Conclave, but since, they really didn’t have many other places to go, they decided to join.

It was one of the worst days in Hunter’s life. At first, it didn’t start out that way. The meeting at the Conclave was truly enormous, and Hunter nearly fainted at seeing so many Templars marching in, sunburst swords emblazoned across the chests of their armor. Luna helped him along however, confident in what was to come. There were several other delegations there besides mages and Templars. Dwarves, Humans, Elves, and Void, there were even _Qunari_ there, a people who Hunter had only ever read about, had been taught to think of as savage. They couldn’t be very savage if there were some even attending the Conclave, could they?

Hunter hardly spoke to anyone on a good day, but now, with so many people around, he nearly clung to Luna, so tense and anxious over everything, he could hardly do more than keep his feet moving and his eyes to the ground, only occasionally looking up. Luna kept strong and by his side though, always by his side.

Then, the explosion.

Then, a misty, horrifying yet completely familiar feeling of the _Fade,_ no longer as murky, but still somehow utterly wrong. A voice, a figure, calling out to him from on high. Then spiders, so many spiders, so much _fear_. He had to run, he had to _go_! Climb, climb, _climb_! Then _reach_! They almost had him, almost overtook him but he _reached_!

  
Then nothing.

***

Hunter wakes up, disoriented, confused with a throbbing in his head and in his right hand, but alive.

With his arms clasped in irons.

With no memory as to how he’s gotten where he is.

With several people who look like soldiers surrounding him and pointing swords his way. 

He hisses as his right hand throbs again, bright green light emanating from his palm. He turns it as best as he can to look, and gasps sharply in pain as the glow brightens. Hunter doesn’t have much time to ruminate about what’s going on, since the door before him is thrown open. Jumping and squinting at the noise, the man begins to tremble as two figures approach him.

Neither of them speak for long moments, and as one figure becomes more clear to his bleary eyes, he sees a woman, with dark hair and sharp features with a sword at her hip. She begins to circle around him slowly, and the trembling in his body only grows stronger. What’s _happening_? Where _is_ he? He clenches his hands into fists. Where is _Luna_ , and the rest of clan Lavellan and the _mages_?

The second figure approaches as well, revealing a pale hooded woman with red hair. Hunter swallows roughly, and as he glances at her, the first woman leans over from behind him and speaks, causing the hairs on the back of Hunter’s neck to stand up.

“Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now.” Before Hunter even has time to open his mouth to answer, she continues speaking, and continues to circle him. “The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead.” She stops in front of him with the red-headed woman. “Except you.”

Hunter can scarcely breath. The Conclave, that’s _right_. But….. _dead_? How was it possible? A grand mass of people simply, gone? And clan Lavellan, and _Luna_! Tears nearly spring to his eyes. How can it be true? That he survived something and she didn’t? He couldn’t remember, he couldn’t think past the pounding in his head. He doesn’t know if these people who apparently captured him are telling the truth, but he’s here, and Luna and the rest of those who were at the Conclave apparently aren’t. Hunter bites the inside of his lip so hard he feels the skin break as he tries to keep the tears at bay. No, if he’s truly captured, he can’t show weakness, he can’t make it look as though he’s guilty or they’ll never believe him. Whatever happened at the Conclave, he wasn’t responsible, but how in the Maker’s name is he going to convince whoever has captured him? He glances up, it doesn’t appear as though these women are Templars, no sunburst sword engraved on their armor or clothing, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t. However, Hunter’s magic hasn’t been suppressed or drained, so either they aren’t Templars, they don’t know he’s a mage, or they’re just waiting to use a Smite to torture him into a confession. He chews harder on his bloody lip to try to contain his panic, and to keep from speaking too soon.

It apparently is the wrong thing to do, because the dark-haired woman reaches down and pulls his right hand up to his eye-line. Green, almost lighting-like energy pours from it, and it pulses as the woman shakes it slightly. “Then explain, _this_ ,” she practically hisses, throwing his hand back down.

Hunter swallows roughly, and grits his teeth to keep them from chattering. He tries with all his might to keep his voice steady, but it still does tremble when he speaks. “I…..can’t,” he says. He notices the red-headed woman—who still hasn’t spoken—tilt her head up and regard him with an expression in her eyes that he can’t quite see. Maker’s Breath he’s not making it any easier on himself, but he genuinely doesn’t know what’s going on or how the pulsing mark got on his hand in the first place!

“What do you mean, you _can’t_?” The dark-haired woman continues her circling, the red-head following, a technique of intimidation that Hunter is thankfully familiar with.

Hunter sighs. He can already feel by the anger radiating off the woman in waves that she’s already at least partially convinced herself that he’s responsible for whatever happened, so it’s not going to do him any good beating around the bush. “I don’t know what that is, or how it got there.” He says, because it’s the truth. It’s the only thing he’s completely certain of at this moment. Whatever the mark is, it’s magic, but it’s not something he recognizes, at least at the current moment.

If staring silence was the wrong answer before, then this one was even worse. The dark-haired woman advances on him so quickly Hunter can hardly blink before she’s clutching at his clothes. “You’re _lying!_ ” she growls, and Hunter can only flinch, waiting for the blow to his face, that strangely, doesn’t come.

Cautiously, Hunter cracks open his eyes, to see that the red-haired woman has pushed her compatriot away from him. “We need him, Cassandra,” she says firmly, before turning back and giving Hunter a pointed look over her shoulder.

“Whatever you think I did,” Hunter tries cautiously, praying his voice isn’t actually shaking as much as feels like it is, “I’m innocent.”

That thankfully doesn’t garner another outburst from the woman named Cassandra, but the red-head steps towards him casually, seemingly unafraid of him. “Do you remember how what happened, how this began?”

He doesn’t remember much, and what he does remember, doesn’t make much sense. He sighs and glances down at the ground as he thinks and they continue to circle around him. “I remember….running. _Things_ were chasing me, and then……a woman?” The last part of his sentence is brighter, with Hunter looking up as if he just remembered something important. Was it important? He’s not sure.

“A woman?” The red-head asks, stopping in her tracks.

Hunter thinks hard, trying to find anything else in his mind that could possibly be of any use. But it’s almost like a dream, where the ore you try to remember the further time you are away from the dream, the more is slips through his fingers. “She reached out to me, but then….” He sighs, feeling the rest of the memory fade away.

Cassandra turns and speaks to the red-head softly. “Go to the forward camp, Leliana. I will take him to the Rift.”

Hunter’s head peeks up slightly. Rift? What rift? As Leliana nods and turns to leave, Cassandra approaches him again. The young man flinches slightly, even though she doesn’t approach with the aggressive air she did before. She kneels down and begins to unlock the irons clasped around his hands. “What did happen?” He asks softly, almost afraid to know the answer.

She seems to work the answer around in her mouth for a moment as she pulls him up to stand before saying. “It…..will be easier to show you.” She unfortunately doesn’t free his hands fully, keeping them tied together as they exit the building.

Stepping out into the bright world only makes Hunter’s headache all the worse, but he stares, in awe, as they turn the slight corner out of the building, and the width and breadth of the sky is opened up to Hunter. He stares, unblinking at the ring of green energy, pulsing, with what look like permanent clouds swirling around around it in a strange vortex. Chunks of what look like rock float as random bursts of green energy crackle around and reach to strike the ground.It’s unlike anything he’s ever seen before.

Except perhaps, the mark on his hand.

“We call it ‘The Breach’,” Cassandra comments softly ahead of him. “It’s a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour.” She turns fully to address him, approaching as she speaks. “It’s not the only such rift, just the largest. All were caused by the explosion at the Conclave.”

Hunter finally tears his eyes away to look back at her, meeting her eyes for only a moment before shifting them to over her shoulder. “An explosion can do that?”

Cassandra nods. “This one did.” Hunter swallows and glances back up at the sky, sighing softly. “Unless we act, The Breach may grow until it swallows the world.”

As she says that, a furious noise and energy pulses from said Breach, sending energy slashing down towards the ground. Unfortunately enough, the mark on Hunter’s hand pulses and crackled with the same energy almost in response to the Breach. Pain lances up from Hunter’s hand and he shouts in agony, lifting his hands up as if to shield himself from it. The pain is so great, so blinding, that it causes him to drop to his knees, panting, shaking as it recedes once again to an ache.

Cassandra kneels before him, gesturing to his hand. “Each time The Breach expands, your mark spreads…..” she hesitates for just a moment. “And it _is_ killing you.”

Hunter glances up at her and frowns, confusion swirling in his eyes just as much as hers for the singular moment their eyes meet, until the young man looks away to focus on his hand again, clenching as the bright light pulses and crackles and glows with energy. “It may be the key to stopping this, but there isn’t much time,” Cassandra says, her tone tinged with what could be comfort or reassurance in her own ears, but also stained with what sounds like urgency to Hunter, especially towards the end.

Hunter sighs, a demand, even not coming from a Templar, sounding all too familiar. He looks up, making eye contact with her forehead. “So I don’t really have a choice about this, do I?” He asks.

Cassandra sighs and shakes her head. “None of us have a choice.”

***

He’s guided by the arm by Cassandra, and as they walk through whatever small village he’s woken up in, various people scowl as they pass, murmuring, some even shouting at him as Cassandra pulls him along. Hunter avoids their gazes and their shouts, so familiar to his ears and yet the words are different, even if he can’t hear most of them. It’s just like the years running from the Templars. Would that ever change? Was he doomed to be blamed for everything wrong in the world?

“They have decided you guilt. They need it,” Cassandra explains softly, as if it helps any. Hunter tries not to frown as they continue down a small set of steps. “The people of Haven mourn our Most Holy, Divine Justinia, head of the Chantry. The Conclave was hers. It was a chance for peace between mages and Templars. She brought their leaders together. Now, they are dead.”

Hunter frowns now. He remembers that much, the reason he and the little group of mages and clan Lavellan had gone to the Conclave in the first place. A sharp pang rings in Hunter’s heart as he remember’s Luna, and he squeezes his eyes shut and chews on the inside of his lip again, trying desperately to save as much face as he can with as many eyes on him as there are.

Two soldiers open up a gate at the end of the path, and Cassandra continues speaking, even though Hunter hasn’t answered her, almost as if she’s trying to soothe him, or justify the actions of what they’ve done to him, or what they’re about to do…..

“We lash out, like the sky. But we must think beyond ourselves, as she did. Until The Breach is sealed.” She reaches to her side, and unsheathes a dagger, and Hunter’s heart nearly drops into his shoes. Right here, she’s going to stab him right here and it’s going to be the end of everything. The mage can feel his panic rising, his breath picking up, his magic surging in his hands. He can run if he times it right. She still doesn’t seem to know he’s a mage, so with a well timed Mind Blast, maybe he can get what, a few minute head start? He glances around, and his heart drops further if possible. There are archers positioned at the top of several hills, poised and watching them. He’s done for, there’s no way he’ll be able to _do_ anything!

In his panic, Hunter nearly misses Cassandra reaching for his hands, and cutting the ropes away. His breathing nearly stops, and he looks at Cassandra with wide, confused eyes. “There will be a trial,” she explains slowly, raising a brow at him. Hunter’s magic recedes, and he swallows roughly, clenching his hands together before rubbing his wrists softly, avoiding eye contact with her. That was….unexpected….to say the least. “I can promise no more.” She adds.

Hunter glances up at her, and nods. Trial, right. So his death is to be postponed until someone decides he’s guilty. He grits his teeth. If they ever find out he’s a mage, it would be all too easy to blame it on him. Considering what happened in Kirkwall….the connection would be easy to make, and Hunter has no one left to stand by his side, no one to assert his innocence.

“Come, it’s not far,” Cassandra says, tilting her head in the direction of a bridge a small way ahead of them.

Finally, Hunter speaks, carefully, his eyes still to the ground. “Where are you taking me?”

Cassandra doesn’t turn back as she speaks to him, seeming relatively unconcerned that he’ll try to escape. Hunter peeks once again at the archers and soldiers around. Yes, definitely not worried. “Your mark must be tested on something smaller than The Breach.”

Hunter glances down at his hand, watching the crackling glowing for one moment, the ache pounding in rhythm with his heart. He swallows, clenches his teeth and hand, before sighing, catching up with Cassandra in long strides, just in case a soldier seems to think he’s not moving fast enough.

He prays to anyone who will listen that he’ll make it through whatever’s in store for him on the top of that mountain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, like I said, these first few chapters are mostly setting things up, and once we get going, it's probably going to drift further and further away from a direct transcript and onto different waters where the game dialogue will be used mostly for very important scenes. Thanks so much for reading and I hope you enjoy the rest of the story!
> 
> Also, just in case: I know that in the game the mark is on your Inquisitor's left hand. For plot purposes, Hunter's is on his right, which, also hence the name of the fic lol.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hunter proves his usefulness as he and Cassandra trek towards the Breach, and meet some new companions.

The trek across the bridge is…..eye opening in the least. While guards and soldiers are nothing particularly new to Hunter, it’s the other things that send several shivers of fear and sadness through him. Several small groups of wounded soldiers sit huddled together, either cradling their wounds or surrounding those with worse. A Chantry brother recites verses of the Chant to anyone who will seem to listen to him, while another Chantry member prays over a pile of fabric wrapped corpses.

While no stranger to death, it’s never sat well with Hunter, and he continues on, even as he sees more and more corpses piled and laid out in measure along the bridge, and he swallows roughly to try to make the uneasiness in his stomach receed. A large gate looms over them, and Cassandra commands to the soldiers to open it, and that they’re heading into the valley.

The path is no more better than the bridge, soldiers with their weapons drawn standing behind several barricades. They pass more corpses, and Hunter once again swallows roughly, especially when he sees the blood covered sunburst swords on the armor of some and torn, burnt robes of others. Hunter nearly starts when three men come running down the path, screaming to the Maker that it’s the end of the world.

Hunter looks up at the Breach, sighs, and forges on with Cassandra still at his back. Once at the top of the hill, it’s almost as if the Breach knew he was coming, for his mark flares again, and with a scream of pain, Hunter falls to his knees, clutching his right wrist to keep it from shaking. After a moment, Casandra helps him stand. “The pulses are coming faster now. The larger the Breach grows, the more rifts appear, and the more demons we face.”

Cassandra continues to walk, so Hunter follows after. She seems to know more information than she leads on, and she doesn’t seem quite as angry as she was in the room where he was shackled, so he ventures a question. “How _did_ I survive the blast?”

While she doesn’t stumble out of surprise, Cassandra does slow. “They said you… stepped out of a rift, then fell unconscious,” she replies, with a small shrug of one of her shoulders, as if knowing that the answer feels rather inadequate. “They say a woman was in the rift behind you. No one knows who she was.”

A woman? Hunter tries in vain to wrack his memory, but the more he tries to focus, the more his head seems to flare in pain with the mark on his hand. He sighs and nods in acknowledgement.

“Everything farther in the valley was laid waste, including the Temple of Sacred Ashes. I suppose you’ll see soon enough,” Cassandra says, before continuing on.

***

More corpses, more fire, another bridge laid waste from a meteor falling out of the sky and almost killing both he and Cassandra. Somehow, luck—or otherwise—must be on their side, because they tumble onto a frozen river, their momentum allowing them to keep relatively uninjured.

Hunter redacts his thoughts of good luck, when another meteor descends from the sky, and as it lands not far from them, a Shade forms in a pool of that same eerie green light. Cassandra draws her sword and retrieves the shield off her back. “Stay behind me!” she demands and swings for the Shade, a vicious scowl on her features.

The pool of light doesn’t fade however, and a second Shade morphs from it, slinking towards her back. Hunter glances around him, remains of the destruction of the bridge scattered around him. There must be something, _something_ he can use to help Cassandra, to help save them.

The Maker must have a good sense of humor—or a terrible one—for Hunter sees not far from him, a mage’s staff laying in the snow. Without a second thought he hurries over to it, and picks it up. It’s a basic mage’s staff, nothing special, no modifications, no personalizations in tune with the mage meant to wield it, but it’s enough. Hunter allows his magic to surge within him, and feels the pull of the Fade, and how it focuses within the staff. Hunter allows only a moment to close his eyes and feel his power, before whipping around and firing magic bolts at the second Shade. It pulls the creature’s attention away from Cassandra, which is all the incentive Hunter needs to fire relentlessly at it. With quick, well practiced moves, he spins and throws his staff around his body, hyper-focused on his target as it growls and shrieks at him. He approaches without fear, but maintains a safe enough distance to not allow it to get in close quarters with him, his brow pulled low over his eyes, and his lip curling back into a half-snarl of his own. Without much effort, the Shade in front of him falls, destroyed, and he chambers his staff at his hip, ready for anything else that might appear.

However, Cassandra appears in his line of sight, the untrusting and angry look in her eyes once again as she brandishes her sword at him. He didn’t want to reveal his magic so soon, but it was either that or let himself get killed or overtaken by a Shade of all things, and he wasn’t about to let that happen. “Drop your weapon. _Now._ ” Cassandra growls.

Sighing heavily, Hunter lays a stare towards Cassandra, and doesn’t do as she’s commanded of him. Instead, he replies, “Do you really think I need a staff to be dangerous?”

“Is that supposed to reassure me?” she practically spits, stepping closer to him. Hunter holds his ground.

“I haven’t used my magic on you yet,” he replies, frankly surprised at how even his voice sounds even as the sword approaches closer to his face.

That seems to give her pause. Her sword drops just slightly and she swallows. “You’re right,” she says. “You don’t need a staff, but you should have one.” Only when Cassandra sheathes her sword does Hunter lower his staff, no longer in an offensive position. “I should remember that you did not attempt to run.”

Hunter shifts on his feet, his eyes finally tearing away from Cassandra, not about to admit just how _close_ he truly was to doing just that. The warrior approaches him now, and offers him a small pack, explaining that health potions are inside, and that he should take them, since she doesn’t know what they’ll face up ahead.

“Where are your soldiers?” Hunter asks, with a small shake of his head.

Cassandra begins to walk. “At the forward camp, or fighting. We are on our own, for now.”

Hunter hears the trust and the threat in the statement, and chooses not to comment. “One moment, if you please,” he says. Cassandra stops and eyes him, before giving him a single nod. Hunter approaches where he found the staff, looking around to see if he can find a strap or something he can use to sling his staff over his shoulder. Normally a staff might be enchanted enough to be able to freely sit across a mage’s back, but something simple, rudimentary like what he has, doesn’t have such luxury. He finds a strip of linen probably from something on the wagon and ties enough just to be able to sling the staff over his shoulder. He glances up and trots quickly after Cassandra, who gives him a look as he approaches.

“Let’s go,” he says, beginning to walk so that he can avoid that gaze.

“Indeed,” Cassandra replies.

***

The further they climb up this mountain, the more demons they fight, and the more corpses they come across. Hunter tries his best to avoid looking at them, to focus on keeping _himself_ alive, even as he must step around some of them as more demons come charging at them.

They climb, and they climb, and finally, reach a stone staircase cut into the mountain. “We’re getting close tot he rift,” Cassandra tells him. "You can hear the fighting.”

Hunter tilts his head, listening. He can hear the faint sound of battle coming from above. “Who’s fighting?” He asks.

Cassandra begins ascending the stairs. “You will see soon. We must help them.”

Still afraid to draw too much distance between them, Hunter follows quickly after her. Another destroyed bridge lays before them, the wreckage of which includes several wagons on fire. Hunter gasps softly when he sees the rift, glowing bright not far below them, and a group of people fighting off Shades as they pour through the rift. Without any real direction from Cassandra, Hunter jumps down and brandishes his staff, ready to fight. At the very least, he won’t have to worry about being quite as outnumbered here. As he removes his staff from over his shoulder, Hunter spares a glance to those who he’s going to fight along with. A dwarf, with a rather large and intricate crossbow stands slightly further away from the soldiers, loading bolts into the machine with practiced ease. Alongside him stands an elf, one with a staff in his hands. Despite everything happening, a sense of slight ease falls over him to not be the only mage in the fight, and he slings his staff around his hips, shooting a fireball directly towards two Shades attempting to gang up on one of the soldiers while their attention is elsewhere.

The battle isn’t as quick as the ones journeying up the mountain, with more and more demons pouring through the rift, the waves of them feeling endless. By the time the last Shade screeches and shrivels into the ground, Hunter is panting and sweating. He doesn’t have much time to worry about anything else coming out of the rift however, since the elf from before approaches him and shouts, “Quickly, before more come through!” before grabbing Hunter’s right hand and holding it up to said rift.

Hunter grits his teeth as sharp pain crackles and vibrates through his hand. His eyes widen though as the rift seems to react to the mark, shifting and crackling with the same energy. A strange sound, crescendo-ing in tone rings through the air until finally, with another singular burst of energy and pain from his hand, it closes.

Panting roughly, Hunter glances at the bald elf. “What did you do?” He asks.

The urgent look from before is gone from the elf’s face. In its place, a rather placid look and response. “ _I_ did nothing,” he insists, and gestures towards Hunter. “The credit is yours.”

Hunter looks down at his right palm, still brimming with that sickly green lightning energy, but not as acutely painful as it had been. He grimaces but clenches his fist. Maker’s breath. It's nearly too much to process all at once. The Breach in the sky, the various rifts around, tearing through the Veil into the Fade. It's….. _Maker_. He tightens his fist, resolutely ignoring the pain as much as he can. “At least this is good for something,” he replies quietly, with a slight sneer.

“Whatever magic opened the Breach in the sky also placed that mark upon your hand,” the elf explains easily, as if this entire thing is something trivial. “I theorized the mark might be able to close the rifts that have opened in the Breach’s wake—and it seems I was correct.”

The urge to frown deeper at the blasé explanation make’s Hunter’s mouth and eyebrows twitch. As simple as that, like Hunter is an experiment or nothing more than something to be studied. He’s had enough of that from the fucking Circle. Hunter grits his teeth against the disappointment and the irritation.

“Meaning it could also close the Breach itself.” Cassandra says, joining the conversation.

The elf nods. “Possibly.” He then turns to Hunter, with a small smile that the young man doesn’t quite feel is genuine and says, “It seems you hold the key to our salvation.”

Hunter almost shouts, ‘Well I don’t _want it!’_ in his face, but bites the inside of his cheek just in time. In that same familiar spot he’d used to keep himself quiet and out of trouble for most of his life. He looks down and away instead, and it only slightly caught off guard when he accidentally comes into eye contact with the dwarf, who had sauntered up to their little group. “Good to know!” He comments with a rough but strangely cheerful voice. “Here I thought we’d be ass-deep in demons forever.”

The smile ticks the side of Hunter’s lip before he has a chance to stop it. That’s definitely….not what he expected. “Varric Tethras,” the dwarf says, his gloved hands resting easily on his belt. “Rogue, storyteller, and occasionally unwelcome tag-along.” He winks at Cassandra, who scowls right back at him.

Another chuckle, more skeptical than anything, comes out of Hunter’s mouth. Who were these people? “You’re with the Chantry?” he asks, the idea of a clearly elven mage and a rather smart-mouthed seeming dwarf the last people he’d imagine with the Chantry. Both Varric and the elf seem amused by his question, since the elf chuckles and asks, “Was that a serious question?”

Hunter shrugs with one shoulder, his eyes on the ground. He wasn’t sure, so that’s why he asked.

“Technically I’m a prisoner,” Varric says offhand, almost like a quick joke. “Just like you.”

Cassandra seems to take offense to that. “I brought you here to tell your story to the Divine. Clearly that is no longer necessary.” Hunter figures if she were more of a dramatic person, she would gesture to the giant hole on the sky, but she simply glares at Varric, who seems nonplussed by the look that sent shivers down Hunter’s spine.

The dwarf smiles and gestures with outstretched arms. “Yet, here I am. Lucky for you, considering current events.”

Hunter, offers a weak and quick smile. “It’s good to meet you, Varric,” he replies politely.

The elf raises a brow at him. “You may consider that stance, in time.”

It makes Hunter frown. What in Thedas could _that_ mean? While the dwarf is a little odd with his relatively affable attitude, he doesn’t seem malicious. Varric however, once again just smirks, “Aww. I’m sure we’ll become great friends in the valley, Solas.”

Solas, so the elf’s name was Solas. Hunter repeats it in his head several times for good measure.

Cassandra practically growls at Varric, thanking him and saying he isn’t going into the valley with them in the same breath. The dwarf, with an ever growing smirk on his lips, throws a thumb in the direction of what Hunter assumes is where said ‘valley’ is. Hunter shifts slightly on his heels, staring down at the ground. Now that the fighting is over, at least for now, tingling is starting up in Hunter’s fingers, along with the still crackling energy of the mark. He clenches his fists and tries hard not to listen to Cassandra and Varric bicker back and forth between one another.

Solas must either not notice how uncomfortable he looks, or doesn’t care, for he steps closer and softly says. “My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions.”

Hunter swallows, glancing up at the man for a split second before responding. “Hunter.” He doesn’t offer a handshake.

“I’m pleased to see you still live,” Solas adds, as if the human hadn’t spoken at all.

Varric apparently takes a moment away from antagonizing Cassandra to call out matter-of-factly, “He means, ‘I kept that mark from killing you while you slept.’”

With the fact that Solas also appeared to know—or at least theorize—that Hunter’s mark could also be used to close the rifts, it was almost as if he had a piece to this puzzle that he wasn’t letting anyone else know. “You seem to know a great deal about it all,” Hunter says softly, if not a slight accusatory.

Before Solas acknowledge his question, let alone answer it, Cassandra answers. “Like you, Solas is an apostate.”

He only barely resists the urge to roll his eyes, and only for the fear that she would take offense to it, and she technically at this point is the deciding factor of whether he lives or dies. Of _course_ Solas is an apostate. Hunter isn’t particularly blind or stupid, despite the fact that he’s probably rather young compared to the both of them. It also doesn’t escape Hunter’s notice that Solas doesn’t answer his question, but smoothly responds to Cassandra's comment, reminding her that all mages are now technically apostates. “My travels have allowed me to learn much of the Fade, far beyond the experience of any Circle mage.”

Although the comment wasn’t said in a particularly condescending tone, it feels like a barb to Hunter. Almost as if to say, ‘Why of course I know more about magic and everything than you, because you’re quite obviously a Circle mage, and therefore all of your training and study pales into comparison to me, an elf who has never been bound to the confines of the Circle.’ As if Hunter had any Maker-damned choice about it. He immediately stops actively listening to anything Solas has to say afterwards, gritting his teeth. His eyes flicker up to Varric, who’s stepped closer to him, and the dwarf offers Hunter a little, ‘what are you gonna do?’ smile and half shrug.

“If it is not closed, we are all doomed regardless of origin,” Solas finishes, looking to Hunter. He was clearly talking about the Breach.

The human glances to the sky. “And what will you do once this is all over?”

Solas’ smile is tight, even though Hunter doesn’t see it. “One hopes that those in power will remember who helped, and who did not.”

“Indeed,” replies Hunter, who’s eyes are still towards the sky.

Solas then turns to Cassandra and starts speaking to her, but Hunter still isn’t actively listening. He stares at the swirling vortex of the Breach, hardly blinking. One explosion destroyed everyone at the Conclave and ripped a hole in the Maker-damned sky. All that, and Hunter is somehow still alive, even though he was at the center of it all. It’s no wonder that they thought he had a hand in it—tingling in his right hand causes him to clench it—literally. Why him? Why was _he_ left alive? Why not Luna, why not the Divine? Surely, _anyone_ besides him would be better suited for this. He sighs, perhaps once they get to the Breach, if they _do_ happen to find a way to close it, he’ll die with it. Then at least, he’ll have died doing something good, something worthwhile.

He’s broken out of his reverie by Varric, who’s stepped closer to him again. “Well, Bianca’s excited!” He says, then uses his eyes to quickly look from Hunter to the others. Hunter doesn’t have time to ask who in the Void Bianca is, since Cassandra says, “This way, down the bank. The road ahead is blocked.”

Solas nods in agreement. “We must move quickly.”

With another heavy sigh and a fleeting look towards the Breach, Hunter hoists his staff up onto his shoulder better, and follows after the others, climbing down the rubble towards the embankment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I said, these opening chapters are pretty much word for word. I don't really know how much people enjoy that, or like more loose storytelling, but as I said before, once we're past the initial closing of the Breach, it'll be less like a transcription. Probably about one or two more chapters of it though, but I hope you enjoy regardless!


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